


He Took

by leadernovaandthemacabre



Series: A Flock of Doves [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Omega Keith (Voltron), Omega Lance (Voltron), Omega Verse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 03:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20057170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leadernovaandthemacabre/pseuds/leadernovaandthemacabre
Summary: While in Lance's care, Shiro is pitched into rut. The result is charming, comedic even.At least until Lance's heat strikes.(A deleted scene from chapter eleven of "The Fringe". Please take heed the tags and warnings.)





	He Took

Lance woke up to vigilant pewter.

He was kissed on his mouth by something intelligent, welcoming and cool. Lance hummed. Lance hissed when _cold cold cold _settled on his naked shoulder and somersaulted up to his jaw where he was encouraged to pull closer, closer to something intelligent, welcoming and cool.

Lance submitted.

In his sleepy haze his unimpeded throat thought it timely to _chime _in a timbre unfamiliar to the conscious mind. But the sound echoed down his hair and marrow singing _safe stay peace safe stay peace _and Lance dreamt of sunny cathedrals he’d never visited haunted by cordial fairies.

Lance pressed closer still.

The thing kissing him was colossal, and by now Lance’s subconscious provided that it was a body, a person, something apart from him that was begging to be adopted. Lance swallowed, and half the saliva wasn’t his.

He chimed and purred, sounds erupting from his belly, and his legs loped forward to strangle thighs that were bigger than him, a body colder than him, an arm in a—

Shiro yowled and flinched back.

Lance jerked awake.

Shiro rolled onto his back, squirming, expression anguished, and his prosthetic dug shallow marks in the floor.

“Oh-oh-oh,” Lance bound to his knees and looked before pressing hands to jaw and belly and letting himself stink of reassurance. “I’m so sorry, puppy. I’m so sorry. I forgot I—I.” He swallowed.

Shiro panted and gasped, eyes still screwed shut, mouth wide in a grimace.

Lance, driven to tears by Shiro’s distress that he could almost _hear, _began to mumble a lullaby. It was nonsense words and much of the melody he made up hanging off of a broken reprise he misremembered in his mother’s voice. It likely did nothing, but Lance held onto it as he rubbed Shiro where it wouldn’t hurt, and Shiro hung onto it as he blinked the wet from his lashes and stared at Lance with fading turmoil.

Lance stroked his hair and at last, at last, Shiro purred into it.

“I’m so sorry. What was I doing?” he paused.

What _was _he doing? Keith’s voice complained: _fraternizing with the enemy _and he banished it with a mix of guilt and loss. He scratched lightly at Shiro’s stubble and thought, _He’s attractive. _Both in form and function. All the same it should have taken more than _attractiveness _to break the spell called trauma.

Two days ago he was hysterical, driven out of home by the sheer proximity of alpha! And now, overnight, his body betrayed him and let him croon and coddle as though Shiro were just another omega nesting with Allura and Keith.

Lance scratched Shiro’s hair.

Shiro sighed, not quite smiling, rolling his head into Lance’s unending touch.

“No offense puppy but I don’t _want _to be attracted to you. I’m,” he chuckled, “I’m kinda taken, you know?”

Shiro listened owlishly.

Lance sat up while remaining kneeling, craning his head this way and that to look at Shiro’s splinted arm in sling. When he oriented himself such that he was leaning over Shiro at one point, the prosthetic crashed down on him leaving Lance splayed over chest and abdomen. Lance protested and an alpha’s hum deposited something warm and syrupy in his lower belly.

“I don’t want to enjoy this,” he protested. “I’m not supposed to.”

Keith was right, wasn’t he? He was acting like the stereotypical omega that they fought to reject. He was being _soft _and _maternal _and doted on the first alpha in his life who didn’t immediately raise his voice or his fist.

Lance scented Shiro’s sweater, then fought a sudden lethargy that kept dragging him to sleep on Shiro’s heartbeat. “Ugh,” he complained, and Shiro’s enquiring chirp and prosthetic got him out of his head. “Fuck I better not be catching anything. I can’t deal with that right now.”

Shiro, after invigilating Lance’s several attempts to get to his feet, eventually rolled to his own and pulled Lance upright.

Lance grimaced. “I hate you.”

Shiro would be wagging his tail if he could.

-

The south facing windows had a panoramic view of the snow dusted veld. There were several potted plants on its sill and a handful hanging from above to catch light from the kitchen skylights. As Lance sliced and diced, he rubbed elbows with the littler aloe he and Keith dragged in before the winter set in.

Lance grew a little sadder watching a pink-blue paint the reluctant morning. Just a few more moments, he mentally recited, and then they’ll track Keith down.

He was lost in thought enough that Shiro’s shadow took him by surprise at the last possible minute. For a heartbeat he was happy that he hadn’t _entirely _lost his instincts. Regret took over when the _zing! _that comes from a deep cut spiraled up his palm and wrist.

He swallowed his screech and the knife fell to the sink.

Shiro flinched at the clatter.

Lance held his wrist and inhaled. He exhaled a slew of gorgeous profanity. He glared at Shiro.

Shiro perked up.

“Go away.”

Shiro, predictably, did not.

He came forward instead to hold Lance’s wrist in a feather light hold and leaned forward with mouth open and obvious intent.

Lance’s hand smacked against Shiro’s forehead. Shiro paused and looked up, cross-eyed, calling in an inquisitive _mmmmrwp?_

“Don’t do that.”

Shiro didn’t move.

“Stay,” he willed all his intent in his tone.

Shiro watched him.

“Good boy.”

Lance dropped his hand and Shiro darted forward.

_“Takashi!”_

It felt good, the heat of mouth invading his very sinew, his tongue moved in a mesmerizing caress, sensual and polite. Alpha saliva was designed to heal quickly, especially with bond marks in mind. Within moments the pain went away. In its place came a laziness that made Lance’s lashes heavy. It dragged his hip to lean against the counter and weakened his knees and shins.

“Why am I so tired,” he switched his fingers from Shiro’s mouth to his own.

Lance sucked twice before the twang of metal made him recoil and watch his hand, and somehow himself, in utter shock. Why did he do that?

Shiro crowded against him looking for affection in his hair. Lance let him, languidly watching the floorboard grow lighter and lighter from a diffused pink light.

“We need to go after Keith,” Lance slurred.

Shiro’s nibbling cascaded from his hairline to his ears. Lance angled his head and suppressed a yawn. He felt hot. Shiro’s skin was cool. He pressed his cheek to Shiro’s cheek.

Shiro pressed back and their scents exchanged.

Lance stepped into Shiro and, mindful of his arm, dropped his forehead against his clavicle. Shiro’s prosthetic held him aloft. A trickle of dread lingered in the back of his skull when his innards _bloomed _with a warm sensation of contentment. More importantly, Shiro’s skin was blessedly cool. Enviously. Deliciously. Lance wriggled against his collar bone as hungrily as his fingers scratched a trail beneath Shiro’s sweater.

Shiro pressed closer still, hold insistent as he nipped and kissed and sucked at the skin beside hairline.

The sky grew brighter still.

Lance expected Shiro’s erection. He left his hands to roam over sides and back and forth and back and, with a spark of juvenile glee, dared step closer until he felt the shape of Shiro’s penis defy his sweatpants, Lance’s sweater, Lance’s cottony tights.

Shiro chuffed in his hair, bowing over him, pliant.

Lance nibbled on his collar bone and rocked the heel of his thumbs against the divot at the front of Shiro’s hips. Shiro breathed. With that steady hold Lance guided their movement. Lance smiled and purred as Shiro moved with him, according to him, and pulled the pants’ drawstrings with a smile and slipped his hands over the naked round of his ass.

Shiro rocked back and forth, his prosthetic holding fast to Lance’s nape in growing desperation, his fangs drawing inconsequential beads of blood on the shell of his ear. He whimpered.

Lance drew back but barely registered the hickies he embedded in masculine flesh. All he could manage was to tip his head back, mouth wet and red with want, blown eyes catching the sunlight while he uttered:

_“Please, alpha.”_

-

The dread faded.

When Lance’s elastic and soft cottony tights hit the floor, when Shiro’s sweats maladroitly followed, the dread faded, and uniform attraction remained.

Between Lance’s heat and Shiro’s vestigial rut they sought refuge in one another. All the same, Shiro’s injury restricted them, which was how the alpha found himself on his back, legs askew, howling and with an omega’s face between his legs.

Lance sucked him down unbidden, delighted by the crooked shape, the flared glands and the bulbous shaft that tapered into a deflated, unstimulated knot decorated by a cute nest of ebony curls. Shiro’s penis throbbed like it had an opinion all its own about Lance’s tongue. Lance traced what veins he could find, he drunkenly pursued the shape of Shiro’s receding foreskin, he happily coddled his balls where he could feel a dim heartbeat. He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed and his throat took on an obscene contour.

Shiro was decidedly more vocal over the entire affair. His breathing was high pitched, coarse and frequent, he thrashed a little until his omega’s hands gently, gently grounded him with long feminine gestures on his naked belly, hips and thighs. His brow glistened with the light of midday. His teeth wouldn’t go away. He parted his legs ever further when Lance’s fingers traced his rim.

Where an alpha’s saliva healed, an omega’s saliva was slimy. It in part had to do with how food dissolved such that it was predigested perfectly for weaning babes to ingest safely. Of course it was also entirely convenient for oral sex, and second only to vaginal slick. So when Lance licked perineum and let his slobber cascade to winking hole, it was too easy to work him open. When Lance sucked him down, it too easily slipped down the back of his mouth.

Shiro whined high, more dog-like than human, strained and anxious but entirely pleased. His prosthetic fingers stayed rooted in the floorboards. If it was because Shiro’s subconscious remembered that his prosthetic could hurt Lance in the throes of passion, neither cared.

_Omega omega, _Shiro’s alpha chimed, comfortable and sated. _Good omega mine happy omega good. Mine._

Shiro peeked down his nose to watch…and Lance’s eyes glinted, aware and predatory, mouth sucking as if to say: _This body was always mine, I was just letting you borrow it._

_Omega omega, _Shiro’s alpha chimed, _I be good for omega I do for omega. Yours. Yours._

Lance’s fingers breached him with a comfortable burn and then they coiled in that excited, searching way. Shiro braced himself but it didn’t help, a flash of inevitable pleasure blasted his pelvic floor and he almost orgasmed.

Lance’s free hand patted Shiro’s ass sympathetically.

Shiro wept on the precipice, vibrating with nearly there energy. When he was nearly there Lance stopped probing his prostate. When he was nearly there Lance stopped swallowing. He was a servant to Lance’s desires before, now he was scarcely a human being, just a bundle of nerves being plucked into making music.

His chest rose and fell with starved attempts and he spoke for the first time in days, _“Omega,” _his voice tight and high and hoarse. “Omega…”

Lance’s fingers tightened like a ring at the top of his rock hard knot and Shiro whined, sharp and broken, and his back bowed up and down in a snap. Then Lance pulled off entirely and Shiro whined, whined…

He watched Lance shuffle forward thighs bracing his hips, and on the inside of smooth columns of leg was slick. Glittering, copious slick that, when Lance’s panties parted, oozed straight from his hole to the head of his hungry cock.

Shiro bucked.

Then a dread set in.

Shiro lifted his prosthetic in a belated warning, but Lance leaned forward and threaded his fingers through it to brace him as he mounted. His labia and the fabric of his panties grazed Shiro’s penis and Shiro bucked despite the pending warnings blaring in his mind and increasing with frequency.

“Omega,” he croaked, and Lance kissed him. “_Wait.”_

Lance watched him, drunk, while his hand disappeared behind him to hold his blessed erection steady.

“Wait,” Shiro’s voice creaked, “_wait La-ance! Lance! Wa-ah! Ummmff…” _he gasped. Lance descended a little on him, properly sopping, properly _tight, _feeling the way a new rose looked. Unbidden Shiro wept.

Lance was likewise affected, eyes widening and limbs trembling. He paused, watched Shiro’s fucked out vigilance, and he took himself off and Shiro made no move to strike him, albeit plastic fingers strangled his own a little more intently and he tried talking again.

Why was he talking?

Lance redeposited the head of Shiro’s cock at the entrance of his vagina and promptly slapped his hand over Shiro’s mouth. Then he lowered himself a little more, a little more, keening when the head popped in and then the stretch of that naughty kink and swell in his shaft, and then he was fully saddled and all he felt was tingling, a satisfaction like finishing a tasty meal, and a dry fire that chanted in his ear: _move move move move._

Shiro whined beneath him. His legs shifted but they didn’t catch on anything, and Lance’s fingers wouldn’t let him go. The more he blinked the more _intently _he watched Lance the more horrified he became.

It didn’t register in Lance’s heat drunk mind. He lifted and dropped himself and drooled and shivered, already halfway there to orgasm. He never wanted to let go. He never wanted to leave again. He set his own irregular pace, fingers running over Shiro’s hungry teeth—

_“Lansh! P’ease!” _He barely managed through tears. His brain was on fire and his body was on fire and overstimulated and taut and tired and heavy. His rut left his bones in shambles. He punched out gasps as Lance rode him, watching him for signs of distress that was not the terror in his eyes and timbre of his voice. _“P’ease…shtop…”_

Lance watched him, mouth open, limbs in the perfect shape. Willing and greedy and taking, taking.

Shiro desperately wanted to grit his teeth and whimpered when he realized he couldn’t, not without biting Lance’s fingers clean off. He couldn’t get his hand free. When he pulled Lance fell on him—somehow still mindful of his broken arm!—and drooled into his open mouth.

_Yours omega yours omega, _his inner alpha preened, all but throwing itself on his metaphorical back and baring neck and belly. Shiro screwed his eyes shut and fought the orgasm that surfaced without his approval.

Lance fucked himself on Shiro’s body faster.

_“Lansh—wai—shto—n’o—”_

It hurt to hold back. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt.

Lance’s sweat fell on his face and chest and arm. He whined. He panted.

Shiro fought to keep his jaw lax, even as Lance played with his tongue.

Lance sang, “_Alpha alpha alpha alpha alpha! Alpha! AL-pha!” _Screeched: _“ALPHA AL-PHA ALPHA—”_

It was Shiro’s undoing.

-

Kolivan and Keith raced their horses to the fringe of the world in the dead of night.

They’d barely arrived at the property and he threw himself to the ground, bowing a little under his own weight, and inhaled between the frost and the horses a heat that was not his own. It coiled his gut with arousal, but mostly boiling fear.

In three seconds he stomped up the porch. In that time he imagined Lance lifeless and bruised, shoulder bleeding, barely breathing. He imagined Shiro with his arm broken again. His home in disarray smelling of disaster and rape. His hand was trembling but he couldn’t tell with how quickly he made for the door.

Keith, windswept and embroidered in snowflakes, crossed the threshold to find the alpha, Shiro, calm, seated at the dinner table, hunched over, and crying.

**Author's Note:**

> Lance's rape of Shiro was abandoned after thoughtful and coherent comments left by brilliant and kind readers who took the time out to explain their perspectives. In the end I chose to remove the scene from the fic entirely because it didn't match the tone of the previous ten chapters.
> 
> The aforementioned comments that inspired my decision will be added to the comments section of this fic.


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